


You're Familiar Like My Mirror

by hannibalsketches



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Love Confession, M/M, Oral Sex, Riding, this gets very sad at the end forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalsketches/pseuds/hannibalsketches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard and Thranduil have been seeing each other for some time now, in secret. They meet and find a pleasure in each other's flesh, but it isn't love. Love didn't belong in their hearts anymore.</p><p>Or at least, that's what Bard keeps telling himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Familiar Like My Mirror

Snow crisscrosses across the sky of Dale, forming thick blankets of white froth amongst the cut stone. It was deep into the night, and the normally busy city was now dormant. Their king stands above it, keen eyes surveying every inch, watching for trouble. Sleep didn't come to him on some nights; the cold brought back memories of fire and death, of fear and pain.

Tonight, though, Bard of Dale was restless for another reason.

Nearly nine months had passed since he had seen Thranduil, and he was painfully lonely. Not that he'd admit it to anyone. Bard was a soft spoken man of little words. He preferred actions over speech any day, and kept his emotions to a minimum. He guessed that was why he was attached to Thranduil.

As the winter wind licks at his cheek, Bard yearns for something more than the warm swaddle of his clothes-- the warm embrace of his secret lover.

He climbs down from his perch, into his home. His son is up reading a book. Bard throws his bow down, startling Bain from his chair.

"You aren't supposed to be up."

"Sorry. Are you going to see him?"

Bard looks at his son for a moment, taking his his maturity. He had promised his wife he wouldn't allow the kids to grow up too fast, but that went out the window the moment thirteen dwarves and a hobbit washed on the shores of his barge. Even so, Bain had been sharper from the beginning. He already knew Bard was seeing Thranduil, even if their meetings were as secret as possible.

"Yes. Watch your sisters. I should be home in a week."

Bard turns to grab his pack, and stops by his girls room to kiss their brows. As he's going out the door, he hugs Bain.

"If the townsfolk talk, tell them I am out on business matters."

"Yes sir."

He moves to descend the steps, but Bain stops him.

"You can't keep hiding this, Da."

Bard smiles. "Don't let it worry you, son. I'll figure it out."

-

The weather follows Bard's boat as it winds across a familiar path, and he watches snow fall as he sails. Anxiousness left his breath shallow puffs of white in the air. The outline of Mirkwood comes far too soon for his liking.

Bard hadn't approved his arrival, but there's still a guardsman posted.

"I need to see the king."

The statuesque soldier nods, then turns to lead the way inside. Bard ties up his boat and follows.

The path to Thranduil's hall is short. Tall winding trees scrape the night sky, and a thick fog bellows over the path ahead. Rumors were that a sickness plagued the forest. Thranduil would know, but Bard never found time for questions while they were together. Taking his sons advice and finding a more permanent solution would allow that to happen.

The gates of the palace are wider and longer than the entirety of Bard's house, and they shimmer in the misty moonlight with silver. Intricate, tiny designs fill the ancient wood, twisting and turning to form a sacred story. The doors are pushed aside, leaving Bard to direct his attention to the matter at hand: seeing Thranduil.

He's escorted as far as the throne room, but his king is no where to be found. He turns to ask the guard, but he too has vanished. With the dark, vast halls of the woodland realms at his feet, Bard feels immensely small, and hopelessly lost. There's a hammering in his chest that refuses to fall as he roams.

Not surprisingly, no soul seems to be in the palace. He doesn't find anyone for what seems like years. The endless maze of hallways definitely don't help his confusion. Bard is forced to sit in anguish, lest he lose his stomach from going in circles. He'd forget his reason for coming if he kept going at it the same way.

Suddenly, he notices a stray stream of pale moonlight, illuminating what appears to be a hidden door. Without much of any other option, Bard opens it.

The inside nearly takes the breath out of his lungs. A hidden garden, blooming with winter flowers greets him. Snow doesn't collect on the ground, and the cold doesn't nip at his back. Its enchanted, which means it might be a sacred place for Thranduil to visit.

He watches the sky for a moment before pressing on, following the trail of flora until it stops. It comes out upon a remarkable fountain, formed by elvish hands into abstract shapes. As he's admiring it, a voice speaks from the corner.

"This was my wife's place of solitude. I started tending to it after she journeyed on."

Bard turns to find Thranduil, clad in what elves considered sleepwear; a long silver tunic with grey pants. The two rarely brought up their wives, perhaps too afraid of guilt, or realizing how much their emotions had shifted. Nevertheless, Bard nods, but immediately wishes to leave the place. He was not a replacement for Thranduil's queen. It seems his worries are understood.

"Let us leave this place."

He wordlessly trails behind the king, following him up stairs, and into what seems to be his bedchamber. Thranduil goes further inside, stopping at the opening in the ceiling at the center of the room.

Bard stops at the sight, taken aback by the beauty of the full moon across his lovers alabaster skin. He walks in, wordlessly wrapping his arms around Thranduil's front.

"Missed you." He grumbles into the soft fabric. The elf chuckles before turning to face Bard.

"It has only been nine months."

"It went by fast for you, then?"

"No, of course not."

Its Bard's turn to laugh now. He cups the elf's face fondly, catching a braid hidden behind his pointy ear. The hair isn't tied traditionally, but still looks immaculate in the king's silver locks.

"You've kept it in?" Bard moves his calloused palm down to Thranduil's neck. The king mimics the gesture, picking up a small elvish plait in the same place on Bard. Thranduil runs his nimble fingers over it fondly, studying it with brilliant iridescent eyes. They had done the work in their last meeting, more of a drunken joke then. Now they had unclear meanings, they had both carried it while away.

Theres a feeling of something building in Bards stomach. It lifts and gets trapped at the hollow of his throat, no matter how many times he tries to gulp it back down. The way Thranduil looked at him now was remarkable, something Bard would never understand. He was nothing more than a simple bargeman with a streak of luck, yet Thranduil regarded him as if he were a chest of white gems. He needed to keep a level head and demand answers to the nature of their relationship, but he really  _was_ lonely. Had been since his last visit.

Thranduil meets his wandering stare with a blank gaze, but Bard knew better. There was a fervor in his eyes that meant this deep ache was returned, that he needed Bard as much as Bard needed him. A split second passes in which the raw emotion seeps through them both, and Bard growls, gripping the kings pointy chin and kissing him as hard as he can manage.

Thranduil meets his passion inch for inch, bending to deepen their junction. Bard moans against his mouth, drawing a hand to tug the long blond hair taught. The kings hands tuck and fold Bards clothing until they reach tough skin, then smooth across it in long, broad strokes.

The angle becomes straining, so they part with a gasp. Bards face is flushed, and pink tinges the edges of Thranduil's cheeks.

"Bedroom?"

"Follow me." The nimble elf grips his hand, tugging him along in a rush. They're racing for the room, and Bard feels young again. He always feels younger with Thranduil, as if the ache of the day was far behind him.

As the vast halls form a doorframe, he jerks his king close, demolishing his pink lips with building want. Thranduil moans aloud. He grips Bards coat and pulls it off, shedding his tunic as they near the bed. The cold nip of winter is not found here, instead replaced with the scorch of desire, clawing its way across their bare bodies.

He shucks off the remaining cloth over his body, and watches as Thranduil does the same. Once they are bare before one another, he is struck once again with the feeling of  _something_  deep in his chest. He knows what it is, but pushes it down. Not now.

Bard approaches his immaculate lover, and takes his hand with a feathery touch. Normally, he'd skip this, and blindly rut into the elf. Now, he was burdened with a need to savor the moment.

He admires the stark contrast of their bodies. His was rough and tanned, while Thranduil's was smooth and creamy white. The king shies from Bards stare, which was strange. Perhaps he felt the shift too.

Thranduil curls his fingers against Bard's scruffy jaw, sighing with an odd look in his eyes. Although Bard knew the elf more than anyone else, he was lost on this glance; it teeters the line of an emotion he's not ready to recognize. He forces himself to look away, trusting his voice for once.

"I've missed you."

"I know."

They kiss again, but the motions are delicate and so unlike what they usually are. The bed itself is a shock of plush and comfort.

Bard would always top in their unions, but with the affection almost bursting through his body, he doesn't trust himself, and pulls Thranduil atop him. The elf is visibly affected by this, but doesn't comment. In one smooth motion, he sinks down on Bard's erection.

They both moan hoarsely. Slowly, the elf king rides him, lifting up, and then thrusting down quickly. The pace quickens, and he watches as the moonlight glimmers in Thranduil's bouncing form, illuminating it in a frost. As the kings lips part, a blush, innocent but extremely erotic forms on his cheeks and nose. Bard can see the swell of his cock, stretching the flesh of Thranduil's stomach. The sight is too much, he cums with a hitched cry. As he catches his breath, he pulls his lover off, rolling him over so that their positions are switched. Thranduil is keening with ecstasy.

Bard licks the ivory skin before him slowly, curling his tongue and nipping, though he knows there won't be bruising. He engulfs the long cock, and hears Thranduil whine with anticipation. His cheeks hollow as he sucks, eyes flutter closed as he focuses all of his energy into pleasing the king of Mirkwood.

"B-Bard..."

He looks up, hums around the flesh in his mouth. It sends Thranduil jerking and gasping. There in his eyes is the same oddness of before, but there is no hiding from it now. Bard turns just so, letting the scruff of his facial hair drag across his lovers thigh.

It does the trick; Thranduil's moaning low, bucking into Bard's mouth and cumming fast.

Bard swallows, then leans up to nuzzle the king, something he hadn't done at all. Thranduil smiles genuinely, then rises to get rags. He cleans himself and Bard with precision,then lays beside his lover, curling up against his chest. Bard cards his rough fingers into Thranduil's hair, and kisses his temple. The king's voice is hoarse, but gentle.

"You are different."

"Yes." Thranduil leans up to see Bards face.  The bowman takes a deep inhale, then starts the conversation he had been dreading the moment he saw the king amongst the falling snow.

"I cannot keep journeying to this place. I have a city under my rule, and three children. I hate lying to everyone."

"Are you ending our relationship?"

"Is there even much of one? We are friends, yes, but I feel as if our affections are unclear."

Thranduil sits up, his hair falling beautifully across his muscular back.  Bard mimics him.

"I know everything about you, Thranduil, and you I, but it seems as if the second I'm allowed access to your emotions, you lock them away again."  

The distance between them is painful now. The afterglow of sex has dwindled down into bitter uncertainty. Thranduil does not answer, instead looks at Bards outstretched hand.

"Its difficult, I know that. We've both been through love and loss."

Silence is the only answer he receives,  and he can't help the hitch in his voice as he begs.

"Speak to me, please."

He wants to touch Thranduil, but he knows the gesture would be lost. The elf was deep in his mind, practically dead to any outside forces. Instead, Bard pulls on his pants and steps out on the balcony. Thranduil doesn't move.

The heat is non existent out there, and the trees seem to be smaller. Maybe he was nothing more to the elf king than a distraction.

As white flakes dust his knuckles, a knot tightens in the back of his throat. Now, with the initial throes of passion settling down into a searing burn, Bard was faced with nothing but the truth. Somewhere along the line, amongst their unions, he had subcummed to something he had once had, but never believed he would have again. The blissful pain of it seems to devour him, he sobs under the pressure. For what worth was this newfound ardor, when the admission itself was so overwhelming? It  _never_ felt this way with his wife.

Suddenly, a familiar sheltering presence falls over his back. Its worthless to try and stop the tears from falling. Thranduil probably knew of his problems.

"I enjoy your visits, Bard. You must know that."

"Of course I do," He turns to face Thranduil, and if the elf sees his tears, he says nothing. The kings face is stone, harder than any gem forged in Erebor.His eyes shy away from Bard’s.  "You must understand how confusing this is to me. We've had sex, but it can't mean nothing to you."

Thranduil's face is mere inches from his own now, but it seems as if they’re miles apart. The alabaster skin, so perfect and pure, cuts Bard down, as do the plump pout of his lovers lips. He gives a breathy laugh before pulling away. He couldn’t handle the proximity. His secret forces its way out of his mouth, his heart hammers in anxious pain.

“I cannot keep falling more and more in love with you, unless I know you feel the same.”

Thranduil’s icy face slowly peels away with recognition of the words spoken. His brow furrows further, and his eyes grow wide. He takes in every inch of Bard. He’s not sure how the elf king is accomplishing it, but its as if he’s experiencing a combination of emotions, making it impossible to place what held in his mind. Bard feels raw, exposed, and dirty under the gaze, but there’s no way to escape it. He had confessed, set his soul out for examination, and nad to sit and take it the punishment. It strikes the Bowman that the expression on Thranduil was something no being had seen before. They had seen each other bare, millions of times, but never like this.

He stands his ground, allows the confession to fester and spread. The underlying question is a crude thing in between them, wedging them even further apart. Bard has to close his eyes, he can’t bear to look at the king, awaiting an answer that only had two extremes. His breathing is painful, but as steady as possible.

Suddenly, a whisper of the winter that followed him crosses his bare back, and Bard slightly arches out on reflex. He’s caught by a pair of warm, nimble hands, and is pressed close to the scratch of elven robes.

His mouth is met with another set of lips, one’s he knew by memory from biting, licking, and sucking. This time, though, they seem foreign. They do not beg for entrance, just push slightly, simply to imprint the feel on his own. Bard cannot open his eyes, too entranced by the sensation. This moment was for memory only.

Its over in an instant, the owner of the pair leaning back in a ghost like fluidity. His fingers drop, and he is left blind.

“Bard.”

The spell is broken in an instant, and the bowman is met with a face of a single clear expression, one he can name easily. Love.

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**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I have a long slow burn fic in the works for this ship, but I'm not nessecarily confident in my ability to write these two, so please tell me if you enjoyed it!!


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